E75 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

GIFT    OF 


Cfes 


;•  -  - 


. 


ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 


A  goodly  number  of  the  WRITINGS  in  the  fol- 
lowing pages  have  appeared  elsewhere  from  time  to 
time.  The  author  here  makes  thankful  acknowledge- 
ments to  the  following  publications  in  which  a  number 
of  these  products  were  first  printed : 

CURRENT  LITERATURE,  New  York  City. 

POET-LORE,   Boston. 

BIRDS  AND  ALL  NATURE,  Chicago. 

THE  KANSAS  EDUCATOR,  Kansas. 

THE  TOPEKA  CAPITAL,  Kansas. 

THE  INDIAN  WITNESS,  Calcutta,  India. 

EPWORTH  HERALD,  Chicago. 

MICHIGAN  CHRISTIAN  ADVOCATE,  De- 
troit. 

CENTRAL  CHRISTIAN  ADVOCATE,  Kansas 
City. 

CALIFORNIA  CHRISTIAN  ADVOCATE,San 
Francisco. 

The  SUNDAY  SCHOOL  JOURNAL  and  BI- 
BLE STUDENTS  MAGAZINE,  New  York  City. 

The  author's  greatest  gladness  would  be  to  learn 
that  these  short  messages  have  helped  other  pilgrims 
in  services  of  life  and  love. 


f. 


A  HARP 
OF  THE   HEART 


BY 


CHARLES  COKE  WOODS 


BROADWAY   PUBLISHING  CO. 

885  Broadway,  New  York 

BRANCH  OFFICES:  WASHINGTON.  BALTIMORE 

INDIANAPOLIS,  NORFOLK,  DES  MOINES.  IOWA 


COPYRIGHT,  1911, 

BY 
CHARLES  COKE  WOODS 


I  C 

k          C     t     •        1  ' 

i  i  '   «     . 

t       t         t.t 

<  '  i 
c  (         <»t«e  i         ••  » 

»«•*',!  I  «    1  t 

1    v    '         I         I 
I        *     t    I     «     «  * 


TO 

MR.  M.  L.  WOY, 
In  Memory  of  Martha  Elisabeth  Woy. 


228807 


Wondrous  scenes  of  beauty  came 

Across  the  years  to  me; 
Would  I  could  find  some  brush  of  flame 

And  paint  them  all  for  thee. 

Wondrous  music  flowed  along 

On  singing  winds  to  me ; 
Would  I  could  catch  it  in  my  song, 

And  sing  it  all  to  thee. 


Copied  from  the  "California  Christian  Advocate" 
of  San  Francisco;  issue  of  Nov.  23,  1911. 


"A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART" 

By  CHARLES  COKE  WOODS 

Dr.  Woods  is  not  a  stranger  to  the 
readers  of  the  CALIFORNIA  CHRIS- 
TIAN ADVOCATE.  It  has  been  a 
pleasure  to  publish  now  and  then  a 
poem  from  his  pen  and  all  know  his 
rare  genius  in  that  sort  of  literature. 
The  Broadway  Publishing  Company 
has  collected  these  poems  of  Dr. 
Woods  and  presented  them  in  a  most 
beautiful  volume.  The  book  is  a  rare 
gift  book.  Dr.  Woods  has  shown  more 
than  ordinary  genius  in  these  poems. 
We  commend  the  book  for  careful 
reading — a  book  full  of  poems  of  beau- 
tiful, tender,  touching  sentiment.  Ideal 
for  a  gift. 

$1.00  Post  paid  from  Broadway  Pub- 
lishing Co.,  835  Broadway,  N.  Y.  Or 
order  through  your  book  dealer. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DEDICATION   .,    r.»     •     >     »    >?    »    >;  •  •  5 

MOTTO      .-    •••     ....     .,    >:    >,  »  .  7 

GOD'S  GOOD-NIGHT  Kiss      -.;    >,    >j    :.j  >.  t.:  9 

SINGING  OF  THE  SOUL  : 

A  Dream  at  Dawn  .      .      .      .      .  >,  >  13 

Some  of  These  Days  .      ...      .  .  :..  14 

His  Presence                       .;    >,     ..  ...  t.,  15 

The  Conqueror's  Creed       .      .,    >:  t.i  i.j  16 

If  Wild  Poppies  Blow       .      .      .;  ,.,  .  16 

The  Crowns       ......  .  .  17 

Foregleams        ......  ,  .  .  19 

"The  Clearing"       .            .....  20 

A  Night  Song  .      .      .     ..     .     .  .  .  20 

Lees  of  Life      .....     ;.:     .  .  .  21 

Miracles        ....;..>,  ...  >  22 


;.; 


The  Return  of  Truth               .      .      .      .  24 

My  Shepherd    ......      ,:     .  25 

The  Master       ......      .      .  26 

A  Soldier  Prayer  .......  27 

Friend    ......  ,     ....  27 

The  Invisible  Weaver  ......  28 

Forward       .......            .  28 

A  Journey  with  My  Soul  .....  29 

Via  Dolorosa     ........  30 

The  Touches  of  His  Hands     .      .      .      .  31 

The  Artist's  Dream     ......  32 

Thy  Hand   .........  33 

Love       .......      ...  34 

FIRESIDE  SONGS: 

"Are  All  the  Children  In?"  ....  37 

Words    .     ..,    ^     .     ;.j    ..,    ..,     ..    w    &  38 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Her  White  Hands  .      .     •.,    w    M    >     ..  39 

In  the  Old  Cabin  Door       .      .      .      .      .  40 

Playmates ...     .     :.,    ..  40 

The  Baby  and  the  Moon       .      .      .      .  45 

Heart  of  My  Heart      .,    ..      .      .     .      .  46 

Hush-a-by 47 

The  Home-builder  .,     .1    i«,    -.,     .;     .     .  48 

Lad  of  My  Love  .      . .     .,     .  49 

SINGING  OUT  OF  DOORS  : 

The  Robin  in  the  Rain 53 

Clouds 53 

The  Sheep  Sorrel  .     > 54 

Nesting  Time   .........  55 

Wild  Strawberries  .            55 

Focr  C*7 

J-     ^  W          •                  *                  •                   •                  *                  *                   *  '                •                  *                  *                  •  )  / 

The  Smile  of  Spring    .      .      »      .      .      .  58 

Alt  3.1  la    ......;.,...  59 

The  Wind   .      .      ,; 60 

The  Grass 61 

The  Song  of  the  Sickle 62 

The  Wild  Rose .  63 

Sweet  William 64 

The  Prairie  Petunia     .      .      .      .      .      .64 

The  Swinging  Lamps  of  Dawn  ...  65 

Rain        .      *      .      .      .      .     ..      *     ...     .  66 

Falling  Leaves 67 

The  Old  World       .,    ;.,    w    >,    >.    ..     ,..  67 

SONGS  OF  HOMELAND: 

•  *  * 

Lincoln   .      .      ....      .      ..     .      .  71 

Brotherhood       .     .      ..     .<    >      ...  72 

Freedom       .      .      .  •    ...    >,     .1     .      .      .  72 

Washington       .;     .      .     :.      ..     ..     .      .  73 

Judgment    M    n     •     ^    M    M    «    w    w  73 


»>.'>>      » 

>   >'   >   >    '    > 

>>'->'      >  I 

>       > 


>  >     1      ,   1     1 

i    . r  >  \  >  •>     >  > 

>   »»  » 

i      11 


GOD'S  GOOD-NIGHT  KISS. 

She  walked  with  God,  or  in  the  sun  or  rain, 
And  when  her  time  was  come  to  leave, 

She  gave  no  sign  of  mortal  pain, — 
On  that  near  night  to  Christmas  eve. 

She   faced   earth's    frowns  with    faith's  unfailing 
smile 

That  drove  the  clouds  from  all  our  skies ; 
As  free  as  sunlight  is  from  guile, 

Was  she,  with  clear,  untarnished  eyes. 

Her  voice  in  speech  was  always  music  sweet, 

And  swift  her  feet  to  follow  pain 
Until  arrived  at  grief's  retreat, — 

She  hushed  all  sobs  with  love's  refrain. 

Then  in  the  evening  dusk  the  kiss  of  God 

Fell  on  her  brow,  as  soft  and  still 
As  dew-fall  finds  the  flowering  sod, — 

And  all  is  well  that  is  God's  will. 

And  now  she  lives  that  glad,  unaging  life, 

Beyond  the  blinding  touch  of  tears, 
Beyond  the  struggle  and  the  strife, — 

With  joy  that  knows  no  ending  years. 

9 


-; 

c 


(      I 


r  < 

• 


I 

'     : 


SINGING  OF  THE  SOUL. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


A  DREAM  AT  DAWN. 

A  Stranger  took  my  hand  in  his, 

And  at  the  dawn-time  stood  with  me 

High  on  a  mountain's  wind-washed  brow, 
And  said,  with  speaking  gesture,  "See 

All  life,  and  its  full  meaning  now." 

I  saw  unrolled  a  wondrous  scroll, 
And  wistful  strove  to  read  its  page; 

I  gazed  and  wordless  grew  with  awe, 
Nor  did  the  sight  my  pain  assuage; — 

The  Stranger  said,  "Child,  this  is  Law." 

A  chieftain  then  in  armor  clad, 
Stood  giant  tall  behind  the  scroll, 

Impatient,  waiting  for  his  hour, 

With  tyrant's  heel  to  crush  man's  soul ; — 

The  Stranger  said :  "Child,  this  is  Power." 

Hard  by  the  chieftain  stood  a  queen, 
Too  finely  fair  for  speech  to  name, 

And  at  her  feet  unmeasured  booty, 

And  world-wide  was  her  fadeless  fame;- 

The  Stranger  said:  "Child,  this  is  Beauty." 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Engirt  with  Beauty,  Law,  and  Power, 

Came  One  whose  worth  surpassed  them  all; 

Like  rain  of  gold,  light  from  above 
On  her  fair  face  did  gently  fall ; — 

The  Stranger  said :  "Child,  this  is  LOVE." 


SOME  OF  THESE  DAYS. 

Some  of  these  days  the  shadows  will  shift 
From  the  face  of  the  sky,  and  the  fogs  will  lift, 
And  peace  will  bloom  in  paths  of  pain, 
As  flowers  come  blossoming  after  the  rain, — 
Some  of  these  days. 

Some  of  these  days  the  burthen  will  fall, 
And  sweet  thro*  the  dark  a  Voice  will  call, 
Luring  away  from  the  lowering  night 
Into  a  day  of  uncloudening  light,— 
Some  of  these  days. 

Some  of  these  days  our  work  will  change, 
And  widen  to  reaches  of  infinite  range; 
The  finest  of  deeds  we  meant  to  do, 
And  the  sweetest  of  dreams  will  come  full  true, 
Some  of  these  days. 

Some  of  these  days  a  Hand  in  the  gloam 
Will  beckon  away  to  a  radiant  home ; 
And  as  gleeful  groups  when  school  is  out 
We'll  gladsome  go  with  joyous  sfiout, — 
Some  of  these  days. 

14 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


HIS  PRESENCE. 

Some  One  attends  this  pilgrim  way, 

And  treads  each  path  with  me, 
He  meets  my  wondrous  need  each  day 

With  wondrous  ministry; 
His  presence  doth  my  soul  engage, 

Whose  power  upholds  the  earth, 
Who  guides  all  worlds  from  age  to  age, 

And  every  life  from  birth. 

In  softened  tones  He  speaks  to  me, 

His  hand's  in  easy  reach, 
My  glad  heart  knows  this  mystery 

Which  passes  human  speech ; 
Transcending  all  material  forms, 

Yet  throbbing  in  each  mote, 
His  music  sounds  thro'  hurtling  storms, 

And  in  the  zephyr's  note. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  CREED. 

The  storm's  swift  wings  belong  to  God, 

He  folds  them  when  He  will ; 
He  speaks  along  the  thunder's  voice, 

And  bids  the  din  be  still ; 
His  lips  of  love  shall  drink  the  dark 

From  every  bitter  night, 
And  all  my  clouded  space  shall  fill 

With  His  unclouded  light. 

No  dreams  of  good  are  aught  too  good 

Some  day  to  come  full  true ; 
The  largest  hope  is  nearest  right, 

God's  upper  skies  are  blue ; 
All  dark  despairs  shall  turn  to  hope, 

All  sobbings  into  song, 
For  God  and  good  still  hold  the  throne, 

And  right  shall  conquer  wrong. 


IF  WILD  POPPIES  BLOW. 

What  matter  if  wild  poppies  blow 

Above  my  sleeping  dust; 
Or  brief  my  years,  or  long,  if  so 

I  have  been  true  and  just; 
I  care  not  where  my  dust  may  lie, 

Or  in  the  field  or  wood,  v 

If  only  all  who  pass  me  by 

Have  known  that  I  was  good. 

16 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  CROWNS. 

The  reckoning-  day  had  come  at  last, 

The  coronation  day ; 
The  years  of  earthly  life  had  passed, 

Nor  could  I  longer  stay; 
I  saw  the  mighty  King-  of  Love, 

And  heard  his  gentle  word — 
The  estimates  of  life  above, 

And  His  awards  I  heard. 

Ten  thousand  glowing  crowns  I  saw, 

Set  full  of  shining  stars ; 
Nor  in  one  crown  was  found  a  flaw, 

As  earthly  blemish  mars; 
I  wondered  whose  the  shining  ones, 

And  whose  the  crowns  less  bright ; 
I  said:  "The  brightest  are  for  sons 

That  flash  in  fame's  high  light." 

Then  bowed  the  King  above  the  head 

Of  one  with  pallid  face; 
And  as  He  crowned  this  one  He  said, 

"His  life  was  full  of  grace;" 
But  in  the  halls  of  earthly  fame 

No  man  could  find  a  shred 
Of  that  immortal  hero's  name, 

Nor  one  great  word  he  said. 

He  was  an  invalid  in  pain 
For  many  weary  years, 

17 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Who  kept  his  spirit  free  from  stain, 

And  free  from  fretting  fears; 
But  from  his  bed  of  suffering  came 

Brave  words  that  cheered  the  throng ; 
His  love  life  burned  with  ceaseless  flame, 

And  ceaseless  was  his  song. 

And  then  a  dwarf  with  humble  mien 

Received  a  shining  crown ; 
He  scarce  on  earth  was  ever  seen, — 

A  stranger  to  renown; 
No  flaming  torch  he  held  aloft, — 

His  was  a  modest  light ; 
At  his  small  work  the  haughty  scoffed, 

And  kept  him  out  of  sight. 

But  when  God's  light  uncovered  all, 

On  the  great  reckoning  day, 
That  dwarf  stood  tallest  of  the  tall, 

And  bore  his  crown  away; — 
A  crown  thick-set  with  shining  stars 

Was  placed  upon  his  head, 
For  not  one  flaw  his  manhood  mars, 

Nor  spoils  one  word  he  said. 

In  handing  out  each  soul's  reward 

No  heed  was  paid  to  fame ; 
'Twas  real  worth  that  pleased  the  Lord, 

Despite  men's  praise  or  blame ; 
Mere  gifts  of  genius  counted  naught 

In  that  perfect  assize, 
'Twas  seen  that  wealth  no  crown  had  bought, 

But  goodness  won  the  prize. 

It 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


FOREGLEAMS. 

We  spread  palm  leaves  beneath  Thy  feet, 

Resplendent  Prince  of  Light; 
Against  our  night  Thy  sunbeams  beat, 

And  darkness  takes  to  flight. 

From  seed  we  sow  in  sorrow's  rain, 

Amid  the  tempest's  din, 
We'll  bring  bright  sheaves  from  fields  of  pain, 

Where  angels'  feet  have  been. 

Field  lilies  fill  footprints  of  frost, 

When  snowdrifts  melt  away; 
And  love-lit  faces  we  have  lost 

God  will  give  back  some  day. 

Earth's  tombs  are  draped  with  living  blooms 
From  seeds  Thy  hands  have  sown; 

Thy  quenchless  light  gleams  thro'  our  glooms, 
And  hushes  all  our  moan. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


"THE  CLEARING." 

Among  tall  trees  I  walked  in  evening  gloam, 

And  for  a  little  space  saw  not  the  path; 

The  dismal  owls  called  thro'  the  dark,  and  winds 

Made  moan  as  some  spent  pilgrim  racked  with  pain ; 

Then  suddenly  I  found  with  sweet  surprise 

That  in  "the  clearing"  I  had  come,  and  stood 

Assured  and  unafraid  at  my  own  door; 

Thus  will  it  be  some  gladsome  time,  when  thro* 

The  tangled  dark  my  stumbling  feet  have  come, 

And  with  my  Father  safe  arrived  at  home. 


A  NIGHT  SONG. 

Dumb  with  dread  my  faltering  feet 
Stand  still  upon  the  verge 

Of  stormy  seas  whose  billows  beat 
My  dead  hope's  funeral  dirge. 

Is  there  no  Father's  hand  to  take 
The  hand  outstretched  to  Him? 

Shall  prayer  but  empty  echoes  wake 
Among  the  sea- fogs  dim? 

Oh,  answer,  God,  speak  back  to  me 
Across  this  reach  of  night; 

Touch  my  slow  eyes  and  let  them  see 
The  coming  of  the  light. 

20 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


LEES  OF  LIFE. 

From  chalices  of  languid  life, 

I  drain  the  bitter  lees, 
And  all  the  music  left  to  me 

Sobs  out  from  broken  keys ; 

The  glad  song  bird  of  hope  is  hushed, 

A-droop  with  weary  wing, 
Nor  can  the  angel  of  the  dawn 

Coax  her  sad  heart  to  sing. 

But  fruit  was  never  ripened  yet, 

Without  the  storm  and  rain, 
And  all  life's  brightest  sheaves  are  gleaned 

With  keenest  blades  of  pain ; 

Mayhap  all  grief  and  grim  despair, 

Like  frost  and  ice  and  snow 
Will  turn  to  good  when  God's  sunshine 

Shall  make  them  melt  and  flow. 


21 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


MIRACLES. 

Miracles  are  wrought  to-day — 

There  are  so  many  now 
That  many  men  forget  to  pay 

The  deferential  bow 
To  Him  who  only  hath  the  skill 

To  do  the  unmatched  deed, 
Of  working  out  His  wondrous  will, 

In  mind  of  man  or  weed. 

I  hold  "The  Sign"  to  be  such  thing 

As  none  but  God  can  do, 
Or  be  it  wrought  in  floods  of  spring, 

Or  in  a  drop  of  dew; 
In  "wonders'*  of  the  grape  and  wheat, 

Full  ripe  in  His  sunshine, 
I  find  interpretation  meet, 

Of  those  in  Palestine. 

God  changes  water  into  wine, 

In  vineyards,  I  allow ; 
And  where  His  heavy  harvests  shine, 

He  makes  the  "Manna"  now ; 
His  methods  may  be  otherwise — 

(God's  modes  are  manifold)— 
Than  under  Palestinian  skies, 

In  those  dear  days  of  old. 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

What  matter,  if  He  work  His  will?— • 

For  only  that  is  good, 
Or  in  the  vale,  or  on  the  hill, 

Or  in  the  field,  or  wood; 
God's  will  thro'  nature's  pulses  flows, 

In  human  kind,  or  tree, 
His  works  are  greater  now  than  those 

He  wrought  in  Galilee. 


ft 


CREEDS. 

Pagan  crumbs  in  human  creeds 

Hold  much  of  error's  bane, 
Nor  do  they  meet  my  outer  needs, 

Nor  soothe  my  inner  pain ; 
How  helps  it  me  to  know  the  path 

Where  runneth  mercy's  feet, 
If  Love's  lips  drain  no  cups  of  wrath, 

Nor  make  life's  bitter  sweet. 

Traditions  hoary  with  the  past, 

No  longer  solace  me, 
By  fickle  fancy  they  were  cast 

In  Mind's  sweet  infancy; 
Too  real  is  life  to  stand  on  dreams, 

Or  fables  well  devised ; 
All  Truth  is  greater  than  it  seems, 

Nor  long  can  be  disguised. 

23 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

The  creed  that  shows  the  heart  of  God 

With  less  of  love  than  mine, 
Is  only  dust  from  earthly  clod, 

And  ne'er  could  be  divine ; 
That  creed  and  Christ  are  far  apart, 

Like  desert  sand  and  sea, 
It  shows  man's  error-blinded  heart, 

But,  God,  it  shows  not  Thee. 


THE  RETURN  OF  TRUTH. 

Seaward  far  the  billows  heaved, 

And  left  me  on  the  sand; 
Had  my  own  eyes  my  soul  deceived, 

Did  I  not  understand 
That  with  the  tide  the  Truth  had  gone, 

And  left  me  lost  and  lone — 
That  never  more  sweet  day  would  dawn, 

But  night  winds  aye  would  moan? 

I  only  lay  affrighted  there, 

Wreck-drift  upon  the  shore, 
And  breathed  a  prayer  choked  with  despair, 

For  Truth's  return  once  more; 
The  tide  had  rolled  afar  from  land, 

And  left  a  weary  waste, 
Where  wrecks  and  ruins  strewed  the  strand — 

And  Truth  could  not  be  traced. 

24 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Her  glowing  face  had  gone  away, 

Her  flaming  feet  had  fled, 
I  faintly  sobbed,  but  could  not  pray — 

For  TRUTH  or  /  was  dead ; 
But  like  the  rush  of  waters  wild, 

Or  floods  of  falling  rain, 
The  tide  came  back  in  billows  piled, 

And  Truth  returned  again. 

Truth  ne'er  had  died,  but  I  was  dead, 

Cloud- veiled  were  all  the  stars ; 
And  Hope  on  muffled  feet  had  fled 

Across  the  ocean  bars; 
But  when  the  tide  returned  again, 

My  spirit  mewed  her  youth, 
For  walking  on  the  widening  main, 

With  proffered  hands  came  Truth. 

^^^^W  9^^^^f  (^V~*J 

MY  SHEPHERD. 

Over  the  braes  with  bleeding  feet, 
My  Shepherd  sought  for  me, 

Through  blinding  rain  and  stinging  sleet 
That  hurtled  across  the  lea. 

From  sheltering  fold  I  wandered  far, 
And  groped  amid  the  gloam; 

Night  reft  the  skies  of  every  star, 
And  me  of  friends  and  home. 

25 


A  HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

But  when  my  Shepherd's  voice  rang  clear 
Through  night's  bewildering  black, 

That  music  soothed  away  my  fear, 
And  brought  the  morning  back. 

I  called  Him  near  with  pleading  cry, 

And  with  His  pitying  palm 
He  stroked  the  teardrops  from  my  eye, 

And  loved  my  soul  to  calm. 

He  drives  away  the  wolves  of  ills, 

As  Shepherds  did  of  old, 
And  on  life's  winter-beaten  hills 

His  bosom  is  my  fold. 


THE  MASTER. 

So  true  is  the  Master  who  rules  in  the  earth, 

That  no  giant  evil  can  come  to  the  birth, 

But  some  mighty  good  springs  forth  full  grown,- 

Seizes  a  sceptre  and  climbs  to  a  throne, 

Makes  servants  of  evils,  helps  truth  to  the  goal;- 

So  strong  is  the  Master  who  rules  in  the  soul. 


26 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


A  SOLDIER  PRAYER. 

Take  not  away  my  chance  of  life, 

Nor  ease  me  of  my  task, 
Nor  grant  me  furlough  from  the  strife, 

Nor  save  from  scars,  I  ask; 
But  make  me  bravest  of  the  brave, 

Unswerving,  strong,  and  true, 
And  when  my  comrades  dig  my  grave, 

Say  this,  "A  fair  fight  through." 


^^B  fi^W  ^^W 


FRIEND. 

I  would  empty  thy  chalice  of  heartache  and  pain, 
Would  freshen  thy  desert  with  flowers  and  rain, 
Would  draw  out  the  bitter  and  pour  in  the  sweet, 
And  pluck  every  thorn  from  the  way  of  thy  feet; — 
I  would  sing  in  the  gladness  of  summer  and  bloom, 
And  sing  out  the  sadness  of  winter  and  gloom ; 
Would  lessen  thy  load  by  enlarging  thy  life, 
I  would  sing  back  repose  and  would  sing  away 
strife. 


A  HARP  OE  THE  HEART 


THE  INVISIBLE  WEAVER. 

Behind  the  warp  and  woof  of  things, 

The  unseen  Weaver  stands; 
And  from  His  hand  the  thread  He  flings 

That  makes  the  mystic  strands. 

The  tangled  skeins  unsightly  seem, 
Ere  passed  through  His  sure  loom ; 

But  woven  in  the  warp  they  gleam 
Like  beauty  in  a  bloom. 

Bright  threads  of  weal  are  spun  from  woe, 
And  night-black  threads  come  white, 

When  from  His  flawless  spindles  flow 
The  finished  robes  of  right. 


FORWARD. 

I  face  the  wind, 
I  front  the  storm, 

Nor  quail,  nor  faint,  nor  backward  turn ; 
But  up  the  steeps 
With  truth-shod  feet- 
God  made  me  not  to  fear  or  fail ; 
I  climb  and  stand 
Above  the  storm 
Where  clouds  forever  fall  away. 

28 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


A  JOURNEY  WITH  MY  SOUL. 

A  journey  with  my  soul  I  went, 
Among  earth's  thrones  and  crowns, 

To  find  full  measure  of  content, 
In  country  place  or  towns. 

The  highest  mountain  tops  I  scaled, 
And  searched  the  deepest  vales; 

On  seas  each  passing  ship  I  hailed, 
And  yet  contentment  fails. 

I  gathered  gold  from  many  mines, 
And  pearls  from  many  seas; 

I  drank  from  cups  of  mingled  wines, 
And  drained  them  to  the  lees. 

In  every  land  I  worshiped  Art, 
And  bowed  at  Beauty's  shrine; 

But  not  in  studio  or  mart 
Found  I  the  thing  divine. 

Like  some  lost  bee  far  from  the  hive, — 
Wing  strength  all  gone  to  waste, 

I  find  my  spirit  scarce  alive, 
In  bloomless  deserts  placed. 

Content  dwells  not  in  some  far  star, 
Nor  on  some  distant  strand ; 

But  duty  brings  it  where  we  are, 
On  any  seas  or  land. 

29 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


VIA  DOLOROSA. 

The  upward  sloping  path  to  power  has  crimson 
stain, 

Drawn  from  lacerated  feet  that  tread  on  pain, 

And  press  their  way  through  battling  winds  that 
smite  them  sore, 

Till  they  have  borne  the  soul  above  the  storm's  up- 
roar. 

I  thought  to  climb  the  steeps  of  strength  by  rugged 

roads, 

And  on  my  Titan  thews  bear  other  Pilgrims'  loads. 
But  now  through  vales  fog-choked  and  chill,  bereft 

of  day, 
I  find  myself  a  wayfarer  strayed  from  the  way. 

The  set  and  stress  of  brawn  and  brain  and  my  soul's 
might 

Have  been  to  reach  the  glowing  goal  of  manhood's 
height, 

And  then  to  stand  aloft  and  lift  and  draw  men 
there, 

Where  to  glad  sceptred  souls  comes  no  touch  of  de- 
spair. 

The  long-locked  secret's  soul  asserts  itself  at  last*; 
I  half  suspected  years  agone  that  when  youth  past 
I  should  wake  up  some  day  where  stinging  frost 

winds  blow, 
And,  startled,  find  myself  unclothed  mid  wilds  of 

woe. 

30 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

I  grope  among  Divine  debris  and  feel  for  One 
Amid  the  wreck, — whose  face  eclipses  noon-day  sun, 
And  whose  voice  speaks  across  the  anguish  of  my 

years, — 
Whose  lips  drain  dry  the  chalice  of  my  grief  and 

fears. 

My  heart  and  flesh  and  my  high  dreams  have  failed, 

But  like  a  witless  bird  on  some  sharp  thorn  im- 
paled,— 

Whose  life  in  crimson  drops  falls  back  to  mother 
sod, — 

Thus  my  spent  soul  drops  in  the  open  palms  of  God. 


ft  ft 

THE  TOUCHES  OF  HIS  HANDS. 

I  lean  not  on  my  earthly  lot, 

But  on  Him  whom.  I  know, 
Whose  unforgetting  love  hath  not 

Forgot  the  way  I  go; 
And  when  His  love-toned  voice  I  hear, 

And  touch  His  healing  hand, 
The  darkest  skies  of  life  come  clear, 

Above  earth's  shadow-land; 
He  walks  the  highways  of  the  storm, 

In  stillest  air  He  stands, 
I  feel  in  climates  cold  and  warm 

The  touches  of  His  hands; 
And  if  He  call  me  in  the  night, 

Or  at  the  tide  of  noon, 

31 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART. 

Or  when  the  evening  star  is  bright, 

Or  when  the  mystic  moon 
Is  raining  soft  her  silvery  sheen 

Across  night's  open  door, — 
Where  still  the  shadows'  watch — I  ween 

My  Friend  shall  come  once  more, 
(Whose  face  at  night  I  oft  have  seen) 

And,  leading  on  before, 
His  gentle  hand  shall  safely  screen 

These  eyes  unused  to  waneless  lights, 
That  gleam  beyond  the  land  of  nights. 


THE  ARTIST'S  DREAM. 

Long  the  yearning  artist  hunted 
For  a  block  of  sandal- wood, 

From  the  which  his  skill  might  chisel 
The  Madonna  great  and  good. 

But  the  quest  seemed  wholly  useless, 
And  despair  stood  at  the  door ; 

Must  he  see  his  vision  vanish, 
Nor  return  forevermore? 

Angel  Hope  came  in  the  night-time, 
Spreading  splendor  in  her  trail, 

Speaking  thus  with  inspiration, — 
"Up,  my  Hero,  never  fail." 

32 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Then  the  genius  seized  the  oak  wood, 

Sleeping  at  the  fireside, 
And  from  that  carved  the  Madonna 

Which  became  the  wide  world's  pride. 

Thus  it  is  that  masterpieces 

Which  the  dreamer  would  prepare, 

Hide  among  the  commonplaces 
That  surround  us  everywhere. 

if^rV  ifVV  tf'Vv 

THY  HAND. 

Thy  Hand,  Thy  Hand,  great  Friend,  Thy  Hand- 

The  daylight  fades,  nor  in  the  sky 

Is  seen  one  star  to  show  the  way 

Thro'  tangled  thickets  of  the  dark; 

The  sea  tides  lift,  and  weary  waves 

Fall  heavy  on  the  sodden  sand, 

And,  sobbing  at  my  feet,  they  die. 

The  moon  in  mist  is  wholly  hid 

Beyond  the  lonely  night-clad  hills; 

My  ships  are  all  far  out  at  sea — 

Great  ships  of  Faith  and  Hope  and  Love; 

Ah,  what  if  they  should  ne'er  return? 

Thy  Hand,  Thy  Hand,  great  Guide,  Thy  Hand, 

To  steer  my  lonely  little  barque 

Around  the  rocks  where  breakers  beat 

Themselves  to  fury  and  to  foam — 

O,  Master  of  all  storms  and  seas, 

Till  to  my  harbor  home  I  come, 

My  Pilot  Lord,  Thy  Hand,  Thy  Hand. 

33 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


f  LOVE. 

Love  hath  eyes  that  see  the  deepest  secrets  shadows 

hold,         •,;,;,•<      r; 
Yet  eyes  that  see  in  deepest  dark  the  faintest  gleams 

of  gold ; 
And  love  climbs  steeps  and  spills  life's  blood  in 

every  track — 
Nor  in  the  face  of  death  or  doom  will  love  turn 

back. 


FIRESIDE  SONGS. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


"ARE  ALL  THE  CHILDREN  IN  ?" 

Life's  lamp  was  burning  low, 
When  a  mother  asked  to  know, 
If  the  midnight  had  been  passed, 
And  life's  journey  done  at  last, — 
Asked  once  more  in  whispers  thin : 
"Are  all  the  children  in?" 

O  the  winds  are  cold  and  wild, 
Chilling  many  a  hapless  child, 
Lambs  have  wandered  from  the  fold, 
In  the  stormy  night  and  cold; 
Who  will  search  the  shadows  black, 
And  help  the  Shepherd  bring  them  back? 

"Are  all  the  children  in?" 
From  the  prowling  wolves  of  sin, 
From  the  place  where  dancing  death 
Breathes  o'er  all  his  blighting  breath, 
And  crouching 'sets  his  secret  ginn — 

"Are  all  the  children  in?'1 

O  the  winds  are  cold  and  wild, 
Chilling  many  a  hapless  child, 
Lambs  have  wandered  from  the  fold, 
In  the  stormy  night  and  cold; 
Who  will  search  the  shadows  black, 
'And  help  the  Shepherd  bring  them  back? 

37 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

"Are  all  the  children  in?" 
From  the  starless  night  of  sin, 
Where  the  winds  their  revels  hold, 
With  swirling  snow  and  killing  cold, 
And  hunger  shivers  gaunt  and  thin — 

"Are  all  the  children  in?" 

O  the  winds  are  cold  and  wild, 
Chilling  many  a  hapless  child, 
Lambs  have  wandered  from  the  fold, 
In  the  stormy  night  and  cold; 
Who  will  search  the  shadows  black, 
'And  help  the  Shepherd  bring  them  back? 


WORDS. 

If  words  were  daggers,  would  we  thrust 

Them,  as  we  often  do, 
Into  hearts  of  those  we  love, 

And  smite  them  through  and  through? 

If  words  were  arrows  poison-tipped, 
Then  would  we  bend  the  bow, 

And  let  them  fly  so  recklessly, 
Unheeding  where  they  go  ? 

If  words  were  things  that  bruise  and  maim, 

And  lacerate  and  slay, 
Like  blades  and  bludgeons  that  men  make 

For  brutal  battle  play, — 

38 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

How  greatly  guarded  we  should  be 
Of  every  swift-winged  word, 

And  oft  would  many  a  healing  speech 
From  our  lips  be  heard. 


HER  WHITE  HANDS. 

From  children's  faces  soiled  at  play 
Those  pure  white  hands  had  washed  away 
The  grime,  and  gentle  words  of  cheer 
Had  soothed  away  each  childish  fear. 

As  white  as  the  lips  of  the  lily's  mouth, 
When  soft  winds  blow  from  the  summer  south, 
Unmoving  at  her  side  they  lay, 
A-dream  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day. 

As  crystal  clean  as  the  purest  rain, 
Dear  hands  that  knew  no  sinful  stain, 
How  oft  they  bore  another's  load, 
While  from  their  whiteness  music  flowed. 

I  saw  One  come  at  morning  light, 
And  touch  those  hands  so  still  and  white — 
'With  Me,  My  Daughter,  come,"  He  said, 
And  death,  defeated,  swiftly  fled. 

39 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


IN  THE  OLD  CABIN  DOOR. 

Beaten  and  battered  by  the  storms  of  the  years, 
Hushed  is  the  crying  and  dried  are  the  tears; 
All  laughter  and  frolic  have  fled  long  ago, 
And  the  mossed  roof  is  covered  with  silence  and 

snow; 

But  still  I  can  see  in  the  old  cabin  door, 
One  waiting  my  call  as  in  glad  days  of  yore ; 
It  is  Mother's  love  watch  in  the  gloaming  for  me, 
As  I  home  with  the  kine  from  the  rain-swept  lea; 
But  Mother  now  waits  in  the  Palace  of  Light, 
And  beckons  me  in  from  the  storm  and  the  night. 

B^PS  wVW  •F'V'IJ 

PLAYMATES. 

Blithe  lad  of  my  boyhood  days,  it  seems  but  yester- 

morn. 
When  barefoot  brothers  you  and  I  played  in  the 

blooming  corn; 
The  tassels  were  adrip  with  dew,  the  long  leaves 

moist  and  green, 
And  while  the  soldier  stalks  stood  guard  we  romped 

the  rows  between; 
Our  hearts  were  flush  as  dewy  dawn  and  so  o'er  full 

with  weal, 
That  we  forgot  our  pledged  return  to  share  the 

morning  meal ; 

40 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Sweet  tyranny  of  sportive  mood  held  us  in  happy 

thrall, 
Till  Mother's  voice  rang  through  the  corn  and  gave 

the  breakfast  call. 
On  other  days  we  strolled  afield  through  grass  and 

leafy  frond, 
Far  rambling  till  we  came   upon   the   iris-circled 

pond 
That  slumbered  in  sweet  Summer's  arms  as  still 

as  infant's  sleep; 
So  glassy  clear  the  waters  lay  like  sunshine  in  a 

heap, 
That  in  we  forded  to  the  thigh  on  moss  as  velvet 

soft 
As  any  fabric  spun  from  down  that  rarest  birds 

have  doffed, 
The  dreamy  waters  slipped  about  our  feet  as  soft 

as  oil, 
And  all  the  world  seemed  built  for  play  with  ne'er 

a  spot  for  toil; 
A  lifetime's  joys  were  focused  there  in  those  glad 

summer  hours, 
When  busy  bees  hummed  at  their  task  among  the 

iris  flowers. 
My  playmate  lad  spoke  soft  and  said,  "This  time 

will  soon  be  past, 
Youth  flies  on  wings  of  wondrous  speed,  nor  can  its 

play  time  last;" 

That  solemn  word  broke  rapture's  spell,  and  wad- 
ing to  the  edge, 
We  filled  our  hats  to  running  o'er  with  iris  bloom 

and  sedge ; 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

Then  trudging   back  our   weary   way  along   the 

shaded  roads, 
We  brought  us  home  where  Mother  watched  and 

took  our  fragrant  loads. 
Playmate  of  mine,  my  heart  upheaves  with  grief  in 

place  of  joys, 
As  I  recall  those  halcyon  days  when  you  and  I  were 

boys; 

For  when  I  walk  across  the  fields  and  o'er  the  mead- 
ows roam, 
I  look  to  see  you  coming  back — you've  been  so  long 

from  home; 

But  yesternight  I  called  for  you,  'twas  in  a  mock- 
ing dream, 
Arm-locked  again  you  walked  with  me  along  the 

laughing  stream; 
And  just  as  in  the  days  of  yore  the  merry  wood 

birds  sang, 
Where  cattle  grazed,  and  gentle  sheep,  and  good  old 

cowbells  rang; 
The  black  haw  blooms  fell  at  our  feet  like  fragrant 

flakes  of  snow, 
And  Spring's  warm  breath  blew  far  away  the  chill 

of  Winter's  woe ; 
The  comely  boughs  of  redbud  trees  with  crimson 

robes  were  dressed, 
And  many  a  bird  with  sweet  love  song  wooed  his 

coy  mate  to  nest ; 

The  aromatic  plumules  fed  the  honey-hunting  bee, 
While  every  sight  and  every  sound  enhanced  the 

jubilee ; 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

DThe  soft  May  winds  with  viewless  lips  and  unseen 
kisses  came, 

And  soothed  us  with  that  sense  of  peace  which  ne'er 
has  found  a  name. 

From  sun  to  sun  the  hours  were  glad  and  ever  full 
with  mirth, 

When  youth  with  wondrous  genius  made  a  play- 
ground of  the  earth ; 

The  light  that  swathed  our  pathway  then  streamed 
down  from  smiling  skies, 

No  clouds  had  risen  to  shade  our  hearts,  nor  grief 
to  blind  our  eyes ; 

Some  tears  had  frolicked  on  our  cheeks  like  playful 
drops  of  rain, 

But  that  was  Mother  Nature's  way  to  save  from 
stress  and  strain; 

No  floods  that  surge  like  fiery  tides  from  flaming 
furnace  blasts 

Had  ever  scorched  our  scarless  hearts  with  name- 
less pain  that  lasts 

And  burns  its  way  through  troubled  years,  consum- 
ing every  joy, — 

Such  fires  the  woe-worn  man  may  know,  but  not 
the  play-worn  boy. 

Full  draughts  of  love  we  quaffed  that  day  from  na- 
ture's brimming  bowl, 

And  God's  good  hand  with  gentle  touch  close  knit 
us  soul  to  soul ; 

Weary  at  length  in  sportive  quest  for  blossoms  in 
the  bog, 

We  sat  us  down  to  rest  awhile  upon  a  moss-grown 
log,— 

43 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART. 

Then  quick  as  light  it  came  to  me,  "The  lad  has 

been  away," 
But  when  he  knew  my  heart  would  break,  should 

he  prolong  his  stay, 
He  hastened  back  to  meet  me  there,  and  hug  up  to 

my  side, 
O  laughing  lad,  in  that  dear  dream  I  thought  thou 

hadst  not  died ! 
With  sudden  start  I  quick  awoke  and  gazed  about 

my  room, 
And  heard  the  moaning  winds  without  that  filled 

the  night  with  gloom ; 
No  happy  chum  was  there  with  me,  no  one  was  at 

my  side, — 
Such  taunting  dreams  rebreak  my  heart  since  my 

dear  Playmate  died; 
Would  God  that  life  were  like  that  dream  and  he 

were  still  with  me, 

Then  all  undaunted  would  we  ride  life's  weather- 
beaten  sea; 
But  heartbreak  finds  a  balm  at  last  and  hope  sings 

once  again, 
For  as  I  walk  the  wave-washed  sands  beside  the 

moaning  main, 
The  music  of  my  Playmate's  call  sounds   sweet 

across  the  sea, — 
From    happy    hills    all    summer-crowned    beyond 

death's  mystery. 


i44 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  BABY  AND  THE  MOON. 

High  swung  in  evening  sky, 

I  saw  a  silver  rim ; 
My  baby  asked  me  why 

The  dear  moon  looked  so  dim." 

I  told  the  little  lad 

That  all  the  moon  was  there, 
But  still  his  soul  was  sad, 

And  sobbed  at  evening  prayer. 

Be  patient,  Baby  dear, 
That  silver  rim  will  grow, 

And  through  the  shadows  drear 
The  full  moon-flower  will  blow. 

Be  patient,  Baby  dear, 

In  darkness  learn  to  sing, 

And  shadows  that  you  fear 
Shall  swiftly  take  to  wing. 


45 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


HEART  OF  MY  HEART. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  I  love  you ; 
Soul  of  my  soul  I  do, 
Fair  as  the  stars  above  you, 
Pure  as  the  pearly  dew ; 
Your  smile  is  like  the  morning, 
Your  voice  like  evening  bells, 
Your  eyes  are  more  adorning 
Than  bloom  of  woodland  dells. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  I  love  you; 
Soul  of  my  soul,  I  do, 
Fair  as  the  stars  above  you, 
Pure  as  the  pearly  dew. 

Out  in  the  woodland  straying, 
Where  sweet  wild  thrushes  sing, 
Or  in  the  meadows  Maying, 
Heart  to  heart  we  cling; 
Light  of  my  brightest  daytime, 
Star  of  my  darkest  night, 
Mate  of  my  youthful  playtime, — 
Soul  of  my  soul's  delight. 

Heart  of  my  heart,  I  love  you; 
Soul  of  my  soul,  I  do, 
Fair  as  the  stars  above  youf 
Pure  as  the  pearly  dew. 

46 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


HUSH-A-BY. 

Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

On  my  bosom  so  warm, 

Within  is  the  calm, 

And  without  is  the  storm — 

Hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 

Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

Thou  never  need  fear, 

God's  guardian  angels  are  hovering  near, 

Hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 

Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

The  musical  rain 

Is  singing  to  thee 

The  sweetest  refrain, — 

Hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 

Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

Thou  never  need  fear, 

God's  guardian  angels  are  hovering  near, 

Hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 

Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

Our  God  is  our  Guest, 

Our  pillow  his  arm, 

His  love  is  our  rest, — 

Hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 

47 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

'Hush-a-by,  Dear, 

Thou  never  need  fear, 

God's  guardian  angels  are  hovering  near, 

Hush-a-by,  hiish-a-by,  hush-a-by,  Dear. 


THE  HOME-BUILDER. 

He  left  the  solaces  across  the  sea, 

And  journeyed  to  a  land  afar; 
He  fled  the  howling  haunts  of  tyranny, 

To  follow  long  the  western  star; 
He  found  a  spot  at  last  he  christened  Home, 

Where  toil  could  rest  in  love's  embrace, 
Where  children's  happy  play  in  evening  gloam 

Laughed  all  the  wrinkles  from  his  face. 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


LAD  OF  MY  LOVE. 

Lad  of  my  love,  as  I  look  in  your  eyes, 

And  see  in  their  deeps  the  blue  of  the  skies, 

As  I  see  your  quick  feet  speeding  on  to  the  goal, 

And  hear  in  your  voice  the  call  of  the  soul, — 

I  could  wish  for  you  peace,  but  battle  must  be, 

Ere  your  feet  stand  unfettered  and  free; 

The  buffeting  sleet  and  the  blinding  snow 

O'er  your  fair  face  must  battling  blow, 

As  on  to  the  goal  of  strength  you  go. 

Lad  of  my  love,  I  would  save  you  pain, 

But  in  her  hot  hands  she  brings  infinite  gain; 

I  would  give  you  the  honey,  withholding  the  sting, 

Would  keep  back  the  thorns  as  the  roses  I  fling 

Dew-christened    and    fresh    to    your    outstretched 

hand, — 
But,  Lad  of  my  love,  it  is  otherwise  planned. 


49 


SINGING  OUT  OF  DOORS. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  ROBIN  IN  THE  RAIN. 

Hear  the  robin  in  the  rain, 
Not  a  note  does  he  complain, 
But  he  fills  the  storm's  refrain 
With  music  of  his  own. 

Drenched  and  drooped  his  finest  feather, 
Yet  he  sings  in  stormy  weather, 
Bird  and  God  are  glad  together, — 
A-singing  in  the  rain. 

That  seer-songster's  vision  traces 
Trails  of  light  in  darkest  places, 
Pouring  through  earth's  stormy  spaces 
The  solace  of  his  song. 

•*V*^l  ^^^^f  W^^0 

CLOUDS. 

The  great  wide  sky  is  a  deep  blue  sea, 
And  the  twinkling  stars  are  the  flecks  of  foam ; 
And  the  shadow's  of  clouds  across  the  lea 
Are  the  shadows  of  ships  that  sail  for  home 

Who  captains  these  ships  that  sail  so  high, 
Who  pilots  them  over  the  deep  sky  sea, 
Wrhere  the  wind-waves  roll  on  the  rainy  sky, 
And  waft  their  music  down  to  me. 

53 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  SHEEP  SORREU 

O  the  sheep  sorrel  bloom, 

It  is  death  to  my  gloom, 

When  the  harp  of  my  heart  is  unstrung; 

O  the  sheep  sorrel  pie, 

Of  the  days  gone  by, 

When  life  was  all  yearning  and  young. 

It  grew  at  the  edge 

Of  the  sheltering  hedge, 

Or  mayhap  in  grasses  concealed; 

In  the  distance  I  know 

It  was  like  a  pink  snow, — 

Bloom  drifts  on  the  fringe  of  the  field. 

O  memories  dear, 

Bring  the  glad  days  neai, 

When  I  hunted  the  sorrel  for  pie ; 

Better  than  berry, 

Or  apple  or  cherry, — 

Was  the  sorrel  of  days  gone  oy. 


54 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


NESTING  TIME. 

Nesting  time  is  come  again, 

And  love  is  in  the  air; 
Bluebird,  robin,  lark  and  wren 

Are  nesting  everywhere; 
O  love  and  life  are  beautiful, 

O  love  and  life  are  sweet; 
O  love  and  life  are  lyrical, 

And  love  makes  life  complete. 

*  *  ft 


WILD  STRAWBERRIES. 

In  peaceful  prairie  fields, 

One  shining  summer  day, 
With  bonnets  and  with  hats  of  straw 

The  children  went  to  play. 

Bright  butterflies  were  out, 

On  errands  sweet  intent, 
And  where  they  lit  with  folded  wings, 

The  happy  children  went. 

The  balmy  summer  air, 

Enladen  with  perfume, 
Breathed  softly  over  meadow  vines 

With  white  and  yellow  bloom. 

55 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

These  vines  of  summer  grew, 

And  all  their  blossoms  shed, 
But  luscious  berries  graced  the  stems, 

When  all  the  bloom  had  fled. 

Again  the  children  came, 

As  gleeful  as  before, 
With  bonnets  and  with  hats  of  straw, 

And  some  small  baskets  bore. 

Down  on  their  hands  and  knees, 

With  fingers  swift  and  deft, 
They  plucked  the  sweet  and  scarlet  fruit, 

The  beauteous  blossoms  left. 

» 

With  ruby  lips  and  palms, 

They  toiled  in  happy  play, 
And  ere  the  sun  stood  at  high  noon, 

Full  baskets  bore  away. 

That  day  of  summer  joy, 

I  never  can  forget, 
The  memory  like  some  dewy  dream, 

With  rapture  thrills  me  yet. 

Sweet  wild  strawberry  vine, 

But  yesterday  it  seems, 
When  life  was  fresh  as  fragrant  spring, 

And  bright  with  youthful  dreams. 

The  dear  playmates  are  gone, 
Who  went  with  me  that  day, 

To  pluck  the  berries  sweet  and  wild, 
And  frolic  by  the  way. 

56 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

But  memory  wanders  back, 

Under  the  open  sky, 
In  quest  of  those  glad  girls  and  boys, 

Of  happy  days  gone  by. 

In  losses  I  have  found, 

Like  that  frail  berry  vine, 
That  though  the  transient  beauty  fades, 

The  ripened  fruit  is  mine. 

Though  youthful  blossoms  fall, 
Love's  luscious  fruit  is  here, 

And  glad  I  go  with  baskets  full, 
Into  life's  wider  sphere. 

•f'V^J  W^>  W^tt 

FOG. 

'Tis  a  vail  on  the  river, 

When  the  rain's  on  the  wold, 

And  the  drenched  leaves  shiver 
In  the  wind  and  the  cold. 

Tis  a  "Maid  of  the  Mist," 

Reluctantly  drawn 
Aside  to  be  kissed 

By  the  lips  of  the  dawn. 

Lift  away  the  fog  robes 
From  the  face  of  the  morn, 

But  leave  the  dew  globes 
On  her  tassels  of  corn. 

57 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


THE  SMILE  OF  SPRING. 

Hear  the  whispers  on  the  breeze, 
Hear  the  singing  in  the  trees ; 
Hark  the  babble  of  the  brooks, 
Making  music  in  the  nooks; 
Singing  rain  is  on  the  hills, 
Dancing  bubbles  in  the  rills ; 
From  their  silent  beds  of  sleep 
Blue-eyed  grasses  wake  and  peep 
From  the  cover  of  the  sod, — 
Smiling  in  the  face  of  God. 


A  HARP   OF   THE  HEART 


ALFALFA. 

Ten  thousand  wells  were  in  a  field, 

And  not  a  well  was  dry, 
Nor  did  they  any  water  yield 

To  thirsty  passers-by ; 
Of  purple  blooms  the  walls  were  built, 

With  masonry  complete, 
When  summer  skies  the  sunshine  spilt, 

And  filled  them  full  of  sweet. 

Every  well  was  swung  in  air, 

And  each  was  blossom-bound, 
Unnumbered  pilgrims  tarried  there, 

On  that  fair  flowery  ground; 
O'er  the  field  flew  butterflies, 

Like  floating  flakes  of  snow, 
Wafted  down  from  winter  skies, 

So  soft  and  still  and  slow. 

In  that  alfalfa  field  I  heard 

The  serenade  of  bees, 
When  vagrant  breezes  blossoms  stirred, 

Like  trembling  organ  keys ; 
I  read  the  mystic  meadow  rune, 

Ensphered  with  rare  perfume, 
And  heard  the  lark's  love-lute  of  June 

Trill  o'er  alfalfa  bloom. 


59 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  WIND. 

Wandering"  winds  moaned  through  the  trees, 
Like  serried  sobs  of  restless  seas; 
And  tree  boughs  swaying  low  and  wide, 
Groped  in  quest  of  days  that  died, 
Murmuring  soft  and  whispering  low, 
Mournful  speech  of  midnight  woe, — 
"Farewell,  Summer,  long  farewell." 

Solemn  shadows  softly  fall, 
Lying  like  some  funeral  pall, 
On  dead  leaves  and  dying  grass, 
Where  the  winds  are  saying  mass ; 
Moving  noiseless,  cold  and  dim, 
Shadow  phantoms  gaunt  and  grim 
Bow  sweet  Summer,  "Long  farewell." 

From  the  drifted  leaves  emerge 

Cricket  cries  of  autumn's  dirge, 

And  dismantled  treetops  quiver, 

Like  long  reeds  in  rushing  river, 

While  the  winds  'mid  shadows  blow, 

Half  articulate  with  woe, 

And  long-drawn  sobs,  "Fare- well,  fare-well." 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


THE  GRASS. 

There  are  sunbeams  in  the  grass, 
Greeting  shadows  as  they  pass, 
Shade  and  shine  alternate  quiver, 
Like  the  moonlight  on  the  river, — 
Oh,  the  glimmer  of  the  grass. 

There  are  gardens  in  the  grass, 
Things  abloom  in  tangled  mass, 
Smiling  summer  breathes  around, 
Tang  and  odor  of  the  ground, — 
Through  the  fragrance  of  the  grass. 

Little  homes  are  in  the  grasses, 
Dewdrops  are  the  looking-glasses, 
Tiny  leaves  are  baby  pillows, — 
Softer  than  the  pussy  willows, — 
Little  pillows  in  the  grass. 

Bare- foot  boys  were  in  the  grass, 
But  they're  gone  away,  alas, 
Down  the  dim  and  distant  days, 
Hushed  the  prattle  of  their  plays, — 
In  the  lush  and  lonely  grass. 


61 


A  HARP   OF  THE   HEART 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SICKLE. 

The  odors  sweet, 

Of  the  yellow  wheat, 

Are  afloat  on  the  morning  air; 

And  the  sickle's  trill 

O'er  vale  and  hill 

Makes  music  everywhere. 

There's  health  and  bliss 

In  the  morning's  kiss, 

And  the  pulses  throb  and  throng; 

While  music  floats 

O'er  silver  oats, 

Where  sounds  the  sickle's  song. 

The  sickle's  song    • 

I  would  prolong, 

Till  war  songs  hush  and  die, — 

Till  peace  of  mind 

All  men  shall  find 

Under  the  harvest  sky. 


62 


A   HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


THE  WILD  ROSE. 

Sweet  wild  rose  among  the  grasses, 
Playing  with  each  breeze  that  passes, 
On  thy  soft  and  fragrant  breast 
Pilgrim  bees  delight  to  rest; 
Thy  pink  lips  and  virgin  tresses 
Hold  more  beauty  than  man  guesses, 
And  there  come  with  thy  glad  kisses 
To  my  heart  a  thousand  blisses; 
Careless  beauty  in  the  sod, 
Blooming  at  the  feet  of  God, 
Christened  with  the  crystal  dew, 
Angels  must  have  tinted  you; 
Bridal  beauty  of  the  lea, — 
Come  away  and  live  with  me. 


A  HARP   OF   THE   HEART 


SWEET  WILLIAM. 

It  was  in  the  April  days, 
When  the  thrushes  sang  their  lays, 
That  we  searched  the  blooming  woodland  with  the 
bees; 

And  Sweet  William  graced  the  ground, 
Shedding  fragrance  all  around, 
While   the   sunlight   sifted   through   the   budding 
trees. 

Lips  of  lavender  and  pink, 

Eagerly  the  sunshine  drink, 
While  the  summer  air  a  luscious  sweetness  spills 

Over  grass  and  leafy  tree, 

Over  flower,  bird,  and  bee, — 
Till  summer  fragrance  every  blooming  beaker  fills. 


THE  PRAIRIE  PETUNIA. 

Prairie  petunia  of  lavender  hue, 

Many  a  summer  have  I  seen  you, 

Fringing  the  edge  of  a  country  lane, 

Or  showing  your  bloom  on  the  grass-grown  plain; 

So  frail  is  your  flower  a  butterfly's  wings 

Could  buffet  your  petals  to  beautiful  strings. 


A  HARP   OF   THE  HEART 


THE  SWINGING  LAMPS  OF  DAWN. 

Near  the  threshold  of  my  home, 

A  cunning  foe  had  strayed, 
And  on  a  rose  tree  in  the  loam, 

A  wondrous  thing  he  made ; 
Under  cover  of  the  night 

He  built  a  silken  ginn, 
And  at  the  dawn  of  morning  light 

Bade  all  the  homeless  in. 

His  shining  cords  were  stretched  with  skill, 

And  woven  with  such  grace, 
That  none  would  dream  he  meant  to  kill, 

In  such  a  royal  place ; 
The  beauty  of  his  bright  bazar 

No  one  could  ever  fear; 
Its  mirrors  caught  the  morning  star, 

That  twinkled  crystal  clear. 

The  swinging  lamps  were  globes  of  dew, 

Enkindled  by  the  dawn, 
And  when  the  morning  breezes  blew 

Across  the  lighted  lawn, 
The  glowing  lamps  swung  to  and  fro, 

Delighting  every  eye, 
Till  dressed  in  gowns  of  light  aglow 

Was  every  flower  and  fly. 

65 


A   HARP   OF   THE  HEART 

But  when  the  lights  began  to  wane, 

As  sea  tides  slowly  ebb, 
I  heard  the  plaintive  notes  of  pain 

That  issued  from  a  web; 
And  as  my  cautious  feet  drew  nigh, 

I  heard  the  dying  song 
Of  one  bewildered  foolish  fly 

That  watched  the  web  too  long. 


RAIN. 

Music  raining  on  the  roof, 

Charming  all  my  soul  aloof 
From  the  worry  of  the  world  as  you  fall ; 

Merry  dancing  on  the  eaves, 

Like  the  waltzing  of  the  leaves, 
Holds  my  heart  a  captive  caught  in  music's  thrall. 

From  the  cooling  clouds  you  come, 

With  your  lullaby  and  hum, 
Chasing  far  away  the  haunting  ghosts  of  fears ; 

Then  the  yearning  earth  you  rob 

Of  her  dismal  desert  sob, 
And  you  sow  my  soul  with  smiles  instead  of  tears. 


66 


\ 

,,,),)       > 


' ' *        )        >  '*>'»' 

A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART  •'' 


FALLING  LEAVES. 

When  the  summer's  tale  is  told, 
Silently  they  slip  their  hold, 
Like  softly  falling  flakes  of  gold; 
And  shivering  trees  complain  with  cold, 
In  sobs  subdued, — "We're  growing  old.1 


THE  OLD  WORLD. 

Upbreathed  from  the  soil  is  the  old  world's  breath, 
Wooing  young  life  from  the  slumber  of  death; 
Calling  the  violets  up  from  the  mold, 
And  awaking  the  grasses  asleep  in  the  wold; 
The  curtains  of  night  with  the  sunbeams  are  pinned 
Back  from  the  windows  of  dawn,  and  the  wind 
Carries  the  fragrance  of  bloom  everywhere, — 
Be  still !  the  Old  World's  at  morning  prayer. 


SONGS  OF  HOMELAND. 


A  HARP.  OF  THE   HEART 


LINCOLN. 

From  want  and  poverty  he  leaps, 

As  if  from  dreaming  trance, 
And  climbs  with  steady  steps  the  steeps 

That  challenge  his  advance; 
Truth-girt  he  stands  serene  and  strong, 

Where  battle  bugles  blare, 
And  with  the  right  subdues  the  wrong, — 

Divinely  brave  to  dare. 

Our  common  flesh  and  blood  was  he, 

Earth-born,  but  Heaven-sent 
To  bring  the  people's  jubilee, 

With  love's  disarmament; 
Almighty  power  had  girded  him 

With  undefeated  right, 
And  when  our  skies  with  war  went  dim, 

God's  chieftain  won  the  fight. 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


BROTHERHOOD. 

Let  liberty  and  light  ensphere  the  world, 

And  fetters  from  all  human  captives  fall; 

Let  velvet  palms  with  shekels  full  enclasp 

The  calloused  hands  outstretched  from  forge  and 

field; 

Let  rich  and  poor  together  meet  as  one, 
On  love's  broad  base — one  world-wide   Brother- 
hood; 
To   boundless   rule   the   Truth   has   right; — make 

room, 

Ye  crumbling  thrones  of  error's  sway,  give  place, 
Truth's  firm  footfall  rings  round  the  world  to-day. 


FREEDOM. 

White  Goddess,  spread  thy  snowy  wings 

O'er  all  thy  sons  of  toil, 
While  Truth  her  Titan  hammer  swings, 

Thy  foe's  red  hands  to  foil. 

Let  rich  and  poor  beneath  thy  smile 

Work  out  a  nation's  task ; 
Let  no  dark  deeds  thy  hands  defile, 

Nor  vice  thy  visage  mask. 

Let  hurtling  shafts  of  thunder  leap 
From  clouds  of  righteous  wrath, 

Let  storms  of  justice  swiftly  sweep 
Death's  red  hand  from  thy  path. 

72 


A  HARP  OF  THE  HEART 


WASHINGTON. 

Devoted  to  country,  to  man  and  to  God, 

He  arose  in  his  might  to  shiver  the  rod 

That  oppressed  his  brothers  with  burden  and  thrall ; 

As  a  patriot  brave  he  dared  to  let  fall 

The  swift  sword  of  right  on  the  land  and  the  sea, 

Till  the  foe  was  subdued  and  the  nation  was  free. 

A  hero  in  war,  but  a  maker  of  peace, 

His  name  and  his  fame  shall  forever  increase, 

Till  freedom's  bright  banner  with  colors  unfurled 

Shall  wave  in  her  glory  all  over  the  world. 

^^^^9  ^^^^f  ^    •** 

JUDGMENT. 

From  darkling  skies  the  Spirit  swept, 

With  winnowing  wings  of  light, 
On  sea  and  land  He  firmly  stepped, 

And  called  across  the  night; 
Affrighted  cravens  crept  away, 

To  hide  them  from  the  glare, 
And  startled  at  the  sudden  day, 

Beastlike  they  sought  the  lair. 

The  great  good  Guardian  of  the  race 

Has  come  to  claim  His  own, 
And  only  right  the  facts  can  face, 

Or  dare  to  stand  alone ; 

73 


A  HARP   OF   THE   HEART 

The  Overseer  to  judgment  comes, 

Umpire  of  the  soul ; 
Nor  can  men  bribe  Him  with  the  crumbs 

Of  any  earthly  dole. 

Through  haunts  of  shame  and  marts  of  trade, 

Like  judgment  thunder  peals 
A  voice  that  makes  all  vice  afraid, 

And  honest  worth  reveals; 
The  high  Historian  of  mankind, 

Impartial  as  the  light, 
Opens  the  books  in  every  mind, 

And  reads  the  records  right. 

Lucre  mongers  searched  by  eyes 

That  burn  through  walls  of  stone, 
And  bring  to  light  long  hidden  lies 

That  knaves  have  guessed  unknown — 
Manhood  for  money  they  have  sold, 

And  conscience  pawned  for  pelf, 
But  finding  naught  save  earthly  gold, 

The  man  has  lost  himself. 

Alas,  for  him  who,  mammon-blind, 

Sees  not  life's  larger  sky, 
Where  Truth's  untarnished  eyes  still  find 

High-lights  that  never  die; 
Pity  for  him  who,  like  the  mole, 

Burrows  in  dust  and  gloom, 
Nor  knows  that  God  bequeathes  the  soul 

His  universe  for  room. 

THE    END. 

74 


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Rust  (a  play  in  four  acts) — Algernon  Tassin  (of 

Columbia  University) I .  oo 

Poems  by  Charles  Guinness i  .00 

Prohibition  and  Anti-Prohibition  —  Rommel, 

Ziegler  &  Herz I .  oo 

Gay  Gods  and  Merry  Mortals — Verse  by  Robert  J. 

Shores I .  oo 

The  Rubaiyat  of  the  College  Student — Ned  Nafe  .50 
The  Deluge  of  England,  and  Other  Poems — James 

Francis  Thierry I .  oo 

The  Dragon's  Teeth — a  Philosophical  and  Eco- 
nomic Work — T.  M.  Sample i  .00 

Achsah,  the  Sister  of  Jairus — Mabel  Cronise 

Jones i  .00 

The  Marriage  Bargain  Counter — Daisy  Deane . .  1 . 50 
Building  a  New  Empire — Nathaniel  M.  Ayers. .  i  .50 

Marriage  and  Divorce — Jeanette  Laurance I .  oo 

The  Clothespin  Brigade — Clara  L.  Smiley .75 

"Forget  It" — Ida  Von  Claussen i  .50 

The  Last  Word:  a  Philosophical  Essay — James 

and  Mary  Baldwin I .  oo 

Travel 

Eight  Lands  in  Eight  Weeks  (illustrated  by  90 
drawings) — Marcia  P.  Snyder 1 . 25 

Eliza  and  Etheldreda  in  Mexico — Patty  Guthrie 
(illustrated) 1 .25 

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of  the  largest  of  any  house  in  America. 

Write  for  free  copy  of  our  magazine,  BOOK  CHAT. 

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